


Do You Still Like Me, Will You Still Feed Me?

by JessamyGriffith



Series: A Wing and a Prayer [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Humor, Leap Year, M/M, Pirates of Penzance reference, Sexual Humor, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The great sky-god Douglas is less than sanguine about the age gap between Martin and himself, and Martin manages to pull the wool over his husband's eyes concerning his birthday. For a whole two minutes, anyway.</p><p>Fluff, cookery, bad jokes and inappropriate kitchen usage included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Still Like Me, Will You Still Feed Me?

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a sequel of sorts to[ Flying Blind.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1493398/chapters/3153196)
> 
> In case you haven't or are disinclined to read that (lengthy) story, here's the brief: Greek gods are alive and sometimes living amongst us. Douglas is the human guise of Eros, god of love, and Martin is his newly-wedded husband. Being a modern Greek myth AU, dates given are according to the Hellenion calendar. You can hover over dates or phrases concerning months to see the modern equivalent.

 

 

 

20th day of Maimakterion, 697th Olympiad

Douglas and Martin moved around the spacious farm house kitchen of their home in easy tandem. Douglas made it his purpose to brush up against Martin whenever their paths crossed, hips bumping or arms brushing as he reached past Martin for some ingredient or other. It was so enjoyable to watch how Martin flushed at the contact but kept resolutely attending to his tasks. Typical of Martin to use the same attention to detail on getting the sauce for the chicken parmesan correct as he was about keeping up to date with flight ops, Douglas thought fondly.

Three months had passed since their anniversary and Douglas had never thought he’d be this content. This level of happiness had not at all been foreshadowed during the tumultuous year they’d been married. Douglas still winced at the tricks he’d employed in his futile attempts to sway Martin’s feelings. In his defense, it had been hard being a god of Love hopelessly in love with a mortal Martin Crieff who seemed to have a passion only for flying. He was wryly aware that his difficulties in wooing Martin had afforded his fellow gods much amusement. But in the end, Martin had returned his feelings, or as Martin had put it, "I took pity on him and put him out of his misery.”

Douglas imagined their union still entertained an immortal audience. The mighty love-god Eros hidden in the guise of the mortal Douglas Richardson? Settled in a house in the country and working as the first officer for a tiny charter airline? Yes, it could be funny, depending on one’s point of view. Fortunately, the only opinion he cared about was Martin’s, and Martin was happy.

“My birthday’s coming up in Poseideon,” Martin said.

Douglas smiled. “Ah, excellent! I can’t wait!”

Martin blinked at him. “Oh?”

“It’s the first time I’ll be celebrating this particular mortal custom. What do you usually do?” Douglas wound his arms around Martin from behind as Martin separated lettuce leaves. “Will there be wine? Cake? How many candles do we need? Do I get to pour a libation to your luscious and radiant self, or dare I hope to have one from you?” He purred the last with heavy innuendo and squeezed Martin’s hips in emphasis. Martin snorted a laugh.

“Um. That does, er, sound nice. Much better than my last few birthdays. I spent those either alone or with the students in my shared housing. Had no money for proper celebrations and… and no one to spend them with. And last year, well. I, er. Wasn't in the mood.”

“A crime,” Douglas said, trying to achieve a light tone. That'd he'd been the reason Martin had been unhappy enough to not even bring up his birth date was something they were both trying to put behind them. “To make up for this, I will add the date of your birth to the calendars so all may celebrate the emergence of such a unique creature into the mortal realm.”

“Oh, ye gods,” Martin said. “That’s a bit much. Totally unnecessary. But just like you. Thank you.” He grinned over his shoulder and Douglas pressed a quick kiss to the curling edge of Martin's smile. “What about you? Do you ever, er… Celebrate your own, um...?”

Douglas released Martin. He cracked eggs into a bowl and began to whisk. “I put down the first of Skirophorion on my employment papers for MJN.  It’s not as if we were counting time when I first emerged from Chaos and Nyx.”

“The start of the Olympiad? Suits you,” Martin said.  “I’ll add it to the wall chart. Arthur will make you a card and Carolyn will sniff at your advancing decrepitude.”

“Cruel one,” Douglas said. “Mocking me for my age. I’m sure the card will be magnificent.”

“With glitter,” Martin suggested.

“Or a pop-up message and one of those terrible electronic music things bleating away,” Douglas said, eyes half-lidded as he imagined a madly-grinning Arthur handing him his birthday card. “An exemplar of true Arthurian enthusiasm. Pass me the chicken?”

Martin did so and Douglas pounded the cutlets, laying them aside for Martin to dredge in egg and breadcrumbs. He was more than happy to let Martin handle the cooking of the cutlets. Martin had never been a bad cook, extremely good at concocting meals from basics when they both were too busy with work to do any marketing. It was the legacy of his long years living alone in straitened circumstances while pursuing his dream of becoming an airline pilot. Given a budget, a generously appointed kitchen and the occasional knowledgeable help of an immortal, he was fast becoming adept.

Plus there was the enticing view of Martin in the apron he donned to protect his clothes from oil spatters. Douglas bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Martin tie it on with quick movements. Mm, that bow. Did Martin know what that bow did to him, drawing attention to that shapely behind? Douglas entertained a quick fantasy of Martin wearing nothing but the apron, bow ties trailing into the cleft between his generous cheeks. Martin turned to pick up a spatula and lifted his brows at the whatever he saw on Douglas’ face. “What?”

Douglas schooled the probable leer from his face. “Nothing.” At Martin’s doubtful look, he added, “I’ll tell you about it later.” It would be worth it for the look of fond exasperation on Martin’s face. Happily, Martin wasn’t loathe to try new things, no doubt due to the wicked influence of a certain love god. Always an apt student, Martin, and more than once their love-play had devolved into groans, laughter and the occasional bruise after a mishap. The olive oil and Twister game featured prominently amongst memorable incidents.

“I was wondering,” Martin said, turning over a frying cutlet. “Are you planning to keep the same guise? I mean, it’ll be odd if you don’t seem to age. But on the other hand, I’d catch up to you some day, age-wise.” He prodded at the chicken before nodding in satisfaction. “We could say you have an excellent plastic surgeon.”

“Or that I’m a vampire,” Douglas joked. “I could let my appearance age at a slower rate - that would work just as well. Put about something about my excellent genetics.” His brow furrowed. “Funny you should bring this up. You wouldn’t mind? After all, I could change my guise entirely.” At Martin’s quizzical look, he clarified. “Be someone else. An entirely new lover, new face, new body.” He waggled his eyebrows, letting his appearance flick to his younger, fit Eros-self before changing back to the now-familiar Douglas guise.

Martin’s mouth quirked and he shook his head. “Oh my gods, no. A new bloke moving into my house every few years? My reputation would be in tatters in Fitton.”

“I’d have said, enhanced it,” Douglas offered. “Think about it. The fine, fanciable Captain Martin Crieff attracting a string of bucks to his bed with his prowess? It would be no surprise to anyone if you shuffled off your old lover, oh sweetest of sugar daddies.”

Martin transferred the last cutlet to a rack and turned back. “Ha, ha. No thanks. I’m extremely happy with the current sky-god of MJN.” He fiddled with the spatula, absent-minded. His tongue came out to wet his lips. “Do you need me to show you how fond?”

Douglas looked from the spatula to Martin’s face. “Hm. That fond? What I suffer for love.”

Martin twitched and lowered the spatula, laughing. “No, you berk. Er. Is that… Really?”

Douglas lifted a shoulder, the grin creeping across his face. “You still have no idea, darling.”

“Huh.” Martin filed this away for later cogitation. Douglas counted his lack of surprise a triumph of their growing familiarity. Martin set the spatula aside. “Still, my point remains. I like this body.” With confidence and the ease born of familiarity, he crowded Douglas back against the counter. Not unwilling, Douglas leant back and spread his legs to let Martin reach his mouth more easily. The kiss was lingering and finished with Martin nipping at Douglas’ lower lip. His own were reddened. “There, old man. I know you’ll be able to keep up.”

Douglas growled his assent and toyed with the apron ties, tracing one with an exploratory finger down Martin’s arse.

Martin leant back. “But... you’ve been thinking about this for a while? What brought this on?”

Douglas lifted a supercilious brow. “What do you mean?” Martin began to smirk.

“Oh, ye gods. I mean, we’re always making age gap jokes, don’t tell me you actually thought I’d want to trade you in for a younger -”

“Perish the thought,” Douglas said, striving for a lofty, devil-may-care tone. Not lofty enough, it seemed.

“Douglas,” Martin said. Oh, skies, and there it was, he was finished. _Douglas, what are you trying to pull. Douglas, just get it over with and say what’s bothering you. You know I’ll find out. Eventually._ And he would too, Douglas thought with some annoyance. If Douglas was a god of love, Martin was some kind of unsung deity of stubbornness and determination. Shrines needed to be built, plaques cast in bronze of Martin with that firm set to his lips and hands on his hips. Nonetheless, to play out the game and simply because that voice tended to get him hot and bothered, Douglas smiled his most melting smile at his fiery-haired love.

“Yes, darling?”

“Douglas, don’t tell me this has anything to do with that steward trying to pick me up in Helsinki.”

At the memory, Douglas couldn’t help a flash of jealousy. “What, that tall, blond Apollonian youth? The one who was ready to tuck you under his arm and so-helpfully shepherd you away from a certain bad old satyr?”

“I told you it was a bad idea to role-play one night stand pick-ups in public!” Martin said. He grinned but it was self-deprecating. “Believe me, it wasn’t so much flattering as it was sort of insulting. Even after I explained, he just couldn’t believe that, well… we were together. _Really_ together.”

Douglas snorted. “Kudos to him for trying to play the white knight, I suppose. Much less having the guts to hit on a captain.”

Martin chewed on his lip. “I don’t look that helpless, do I?”

Douglas ran soothing hands up and down Martin’s upper arms. “No, dear.” Though far from having anything near Douglas’ rampant self-confidence, Martin was much more assured than he had been when Eros had first fallen in love with him. On the other hand, Martin was shorter than average with those huge grey eyes and a trim body under his uniform that drew covert attention. “But I’m still astonished after all this time how wonderfully oblivious you are to your own attractions.” And always would be, due to years of thinking himself some kind of ugly duckling. _Well, that might be best for my blood pressure,_ Douglas thought. A Martin fully aware of his charms would be a menace.

Miffed, Martin drew away and returned to the task of assembling the chicken parmesan in a pan, popping it into the AGA and setting the timer. “That was it, wasn’t it? The reason you’re dancing around this question of having younger guises? It’s not, not just to please me, is it?”

“Times are very different now,” Douglas hedged.

“I knew it,” Martin groaned. “You want to look younger because your ego can’t handle being the, I don’t know, the month of Poseideon to my Thargelion. For the sake of the gods, Eros!” His eye glinted. “If anything, I’m the month of Gamelion compared to you.”

“Oh, fine,” Douglas said. “You’ve got me, my captain. Though in my defense, amongst my own kind, having a tender young mortal lover is common-place. But I’m not a predator, nor your uncle, and my feelings for you will never be fatherly, praise the darkness. It’s a tad disconcerting in this realm - all those lifted mortal brows when they see us together. Therefore, I thought that perhaps...”

“I’d be more comfortable with a younger Douglas on my arm?” Martin pointed his handful of silverware at his husband. “Don’t you put that on me, Eros. Though again, I’m vaguely flattered.”

Douglas took plates and glasses down and began to help set the table. “Only vaguely?”

“Well, it’s sweet to offer to change for me, I suppose. But you think I care about what people think when it comes to us? I’m not shallow, thanks very much.”

“My apologies,” Douglas said.

“Don’t use your humble-Douglas voice on me,” Martin said tartly. “Can you uncork this?” He handed the wine bottle to Douglas.

“All right, I won’t pretend to grovel except in the hopes of appeasing my fiery darling,” Douglas said. “I am thrilled and vastly relieved that you love me as I am, in my various state of beings, youthful or aged, sky-god or love-god.” He loosened the cork and poured Martin a glass with a deft flourish worthy of an Italian waiter. “I won’t question your superior taste any more, o Sir of Sirs.”

Martin took the glass and considered him, twirling the stem. “All right, then.” He closed his eyes and took a sip.

Douglas felt his knees weaken as Martin’s unspoken prayer of thanksgiving to Eros pushed through his chest and lodged within, a glowing touch that made his guise flicker. Martin let his lips linger on the glass, their pink tinged with red as he raised his eyes to meet Douglas’. “You complete and utter minx,” Douglas breathed. “Put that glass down and come worship your god this instant.”

Martin giggled at the effect his libation had elicited. “You mean, ‘Come worship me, _Sir,_ ’’” he teased. Douglas growled, took the wine glass away and lifted his husband bodily. Martin’s legs came around his waist as Douglas pressed him against the fridge, magnets and papers scattering to the floor around them. Martin’s hands sank into Douglas hair as he took the command to heart, opening his mouth under Douglas until they were both gasping and more than a little aroused. Martin tightened his legs, digging his heels in to encourage Douglas closer until his belly rubbed against his erection. “Oh, Eros, yes,” he said, voice pleasure-drenched, sending another bolt of lust through Douglas.

“I _adore_ direct adulation,” he said and Martin laughed.

“I know.” He did, the lovely wretch. “P-put me down.”

Douglas did so, letting him slide between his body and the fridge so that the friction dragged at his own aching cock trapped in his trousers. But Martin slipped down even further until Douglas got the hint and gave him the space to drop to his knees and work open his fly.

Without preamble, Martin pulled him forth, gave the tip of his penis a quick lick as if for a test, then swallowed him down. Douglas half-shouted at the sensation, bending forward over Martin’s bobbing head until his forehead knocked into the fridge. “Oh, skies, that’s good.” His hand threaded into curls, not to pull Martin’s head forward but just to feel the movement as Martin worked upon him. The sight of Martin’s face, alternately hidden and exposed in the open placket of Douglas’ trousers was maddening, as was the wicked squiggle of tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Ah, that’s it, there’s the worship I’m due,” Douglas whispered and groaned a laugh as Martin made an indignant humming noise around him. Martin’s fingers dented his arse cheeks, controlling Douglas' movements. “Perfect, that’s… I’m not going to last long, love.” Martin hummed again in enjoyment. Douglas could only grit his teeth and brace his legs as Martin hollowed his cheeks and drew back to look up with a wicked glint. The open-mouthed expression on Douglas' face must have satisfied him. Martin engulfed him once more and did his mortal best to suck Douglas’ vaunted brains out via the only route he would ever lose them.

“Martin,” he managed to get out in warning before his climax was upon him, Martin relaxing his mouth so Douglas’ sensitive glans rested against his tongue as the pulsing began. “Martin,” Douglas said again, the name torn from him. Then he jolted as the stove alarm went off, its shrill buzz an assault on his ears. Martin also jerked in surprise, Douglas’ cock slipping from his mouth. The last spurt landed in a ginger eyebrow and dripped over Martin’s eye, an unexpected party streamer decoration.

"The chicken! Oh, oh Hades, get out of the way!" Martin scrabbled at Douglas' legs, eeling his way free as Douglas clung to the fridge, weak-kneed from orgasm and uncontrollable laughter. The unbearable din cut off and he turned to lean against the fridge, his amusement fading to deep chuckles. But he clutched his stomach again as he saw Martin tear off a paper towel to wipe at his face.

"Oh, shut up," Martin muttered, but his lips twitched. "You nearly got me in the eye."

Douglas wheezed. "Just your luck, I guess." Martin rolled his eyes as he washed his hands. Douglas joined him at the sink, linking arms around his waist. "Mm. Can dinner wait?"

Martin snorted. "It could, but we may as well eat now. For one reason or another, I'm not quite as... as, well, you know."

Douglas grinned and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Oh, poor dear. Was it a buzz-kill?" He dodged the swat with ease and went to fetch the salad cream. "Not to worry, I'll never let my favourite devotee go unrewarded for long." He dropped a wink. Martin shook his head, smiling.

"You - you're just incorrigible."

It was post-meal while they sorted dishes for the dishwasher that the topic of Martin's birthday celebration came up again. "Not that I'll be ordering a cake, candles or organising the party, mind - I'll leave that to Arthur. He loves helping, and I'm sure whatever he comes up with will certainly be surprising," Douglas said. "He loves surprise parties, after all.” Martin huffed a laugh. “But what birthday will you be having?"

Martin bit his lip. "Um. It'll be my forty first birthday." He scraped at the cheese on the side of the baking pan, not looking up.

"Your forty first?" Douglas said, taken aback. “I see I needn't have made a fuss about looking younger. You're barely a decade behind my apparent age." His brows came together and he pursed his lips. "I think it’s the accepted custom to congratulate you upon your seeming youth. But, really is it fair to ask me to stay the same when you still look so young?"

"N-no, I s-suppose not." It was the quaver in Martin's voice that aroused Douglas' suspicions. He closed up the dishwasher, washed his hands and caged his husband, turning him from his task and lifting his chin for a gentle kiss.

"Martin," Douglas said in his most melting tone. "Martin, love, are you having this ancient god on?"

Martin's ears had gone revealingly red, but he did his best. "What? It actually happens to be true. I've had forty one birthdays. You can even ask my mother."

Douglas reared back at this. Wendy Crieff was a dear woman who was only somewhat more capable of convincing falsehoods than Arthur Knapp-Shappey. He took Martin’s chin in his hand and lifted his face for scrutiny. Martin blinked guileless grey eyes at him but Douglas narrowed his own. The corner of Martin’s mouth quivered before he bit the inside of his cheek, expression bright.

“All right,” Douglas said slowly. “And if, for the sake of argument, I were to apply to your mother for the chance to see your birth certificate, I’d see…?”

“The date of my birth, of course, don’t be ridiculous,” Martin said. He choked off a giggle.

 _Ah hah_. “The date of your birth,” Douglas said in menace. “And again, not that I’m saying you are toying with me, for I know my love is an honest yet occasionally mischievous person. But if we were going to celebrate your birthday with a slap-up sushi dinner because you were born in, say, the kingdom of Japan, your birthday would be?”

 “Second day of the first month,” Martin said promptly. “Showa era, if you must know.”

_Ah hah again._ “I see. And if you were Canadian, your birth record would say you had lived how long?”

Martin’s smirk couldn’t be contained any longer. “My elders would say I had lived 29 winters and that I was born the day after the longest night. Which sounds a bit ominous, really.” The smirk spread to a wide smile. “But here, under our frankly insane -”

“Revered and customary,” Douglas corrected.

“- ancient calendar system, I was born…”

“In a leap month,” Douglas finished. “Buggering Hades.”

“Second day of Poseideon _Two_ , six hundred and sixty seventh Olympiad.” Martin had the temerity to laugh at his god. “I’m twenty nine.”

“Sod it to the skies, I’m _still_ robbing the cradle,” Douglas groaned.

“Like that changes anything between us. Like I care,” Martin reminded him, then smirked. “O ancient one.”

It was true enough that the Hellenion system was slightly mad, based on solar and lunar events instead of current scientific evidence based on the rotation of the earth. But with months based on moon phases, it left a year eleven days short. Thus, every third year, the month of Poseideon was repeated twice to make up the lack and keep the festivals in their proper seasons. Martin’s being born in second month meant his actual birthday occurred only in those years. In intervening years, like the rest of those born in that month, his birthday would be shifted to the day of the winter solstice.

Martin giggled again, the impertinent thing. “The look on your face when you thought I was forty one years old, though! Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

Douglas chose to ignore this sally. “So Wendy let you have two birthdays every three years?” he asked. “A superfluity, if you ask me.”

“Actually, it was my dad. He felt a bit sorry for me,” Martin said. He shrugged. “It’s a bit rotten to have your birthday during the Heliogenna festival. Simon and Caitlin had their usual birthday presents _and_ the Heliogenna gifts, while I would get my birthday lumped in with it two years running. So we made up for it. Every three years I’d get a birthday in both Poseideon One and Two.”

“Greedy one,” Douglas said and rubbed his nose against Martin’s. “But very thoughtful of your father.” He couldn’t help the deep rumbling chuckles. “Of course you’d be a leapling. What else would my darling be? It’s just so very you, being born in a leap year. Like something out of Gilbert and Sullivan. Oh, Martin.”

“It’s not that funny! Anyway, being a leapling isn’t that special, a lot of Olympian followers are in the same boat,” Martin said. “And, and I could have told you I’d be celebrating my eleventh birthday, which is technically true. But that wouldn’t have fooled you for a second.” He wrinkled his nose at his husband. “Cradle robber.”

Douglas had to laugh again. “All right, I give in. Don’t think I won’t be revenged for your little deception. Let me see. Hm. I shall…” He looked at the ceiling as if pondering Martin’s fate, but his hands went to Martin’s waist and began to rub sensuous circles, grazing the tops of his buttocks. Martin squirmed in anticipation.. Douglas bent to brush his lips over Martin’s and whispered, “I shall just have to… call it even.” He dropped his hands away, picked a dishcloth and began to wipe down the counters.

“What?” Martin said.

“We’re even,” Douglas said. “Your trick cancels out your libation.” He shrugged and heaved a sad sigh. “A pity, when I’d planning rewarding your devotion so lavishly. I was going to…” His dropped to a low, filthy murmur as he outlined in exacting detail what he was going to do. The words _lubricant, spread_ , and _fingers_ were used, along with _cock, nipples_ and _howl_. The phrase ‘and then I’ll use my tongue’ was interspersed at interesting and sometimes unusual moments throughout the narrative, along with _stroke, tight_ , and _thrust._ Martin’s pupils dilated and his breath came faster through parted lips. “And when you were limp, I was going to show you that I hadn’t _quite_ wrung the last of your pleasure from you by -”

“For Eros’ sake!” Martin blurted, then flushed at the inadvertent yet instinctive prayer. Douglas looked at the telltale bulge in Martin’s jeans and grinned in satisfaction.

  
“Praise your god, now we’re even! Get your callipygian arse to our bedroom this instant, _Sir_. It’s time for some Martinian devotion.” He flicked the dish cloth at Martin’s shapely rear and laughed at the indignant yip. Still chuckling, he flung down the cloth, turned out the lights and followed his love upstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I twisted Martin's age to be much younger than what is regarded in canon. What can I say - he started trying for his licence young, and it fit the bill for this alternate universe.
> 
> Thanks for reading and if anyone has an idea for more short pieces in this universe, let me know!


End file.
